marukeldesire @marukeldesire
The memory of that day still lingers in my mind like a warm summer breeze. It was the 18th of May 1975, and I had just turned 16 years old. My mother had passed away six months prior to that, leaving my father to raise me on his own. I remember it was a typical Sunday afternoon when he came home from church, his face etched with concern. He told me that there were two nuns who wanted to speak to me in the living room.
I went to the living room, feeling somewhat apprehensive about what they had come for. As I entered the room, I saw Sister Mary and Sister Grace sitting on the couch, their faces filled with warmth and kindness. They introduced themselves as my spiritual guardians appointed by the church, and that's when everything changed for me.
Over the next few months, I found myself spending more time with the sisters than I did with my father. They would take me to church every Sunday, telling me stories of love, compassion, and acceptance. Their kindness towards me was contagious; soon enough, I felt a deep connection between Sister Mary and Sister Grace that couldn't be explained by mere words. It wasn't until the summer break when our innocence began to fade away into the sunset.
